


like a prayer for which no words exist

by sci_fis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Stanford Era (Supernatural), Stanford Student Sam Winchester, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Sam Winchester, Trans Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21952105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sci_fis/pseuds/sci_fis
Summary: he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel yourheart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something youdon’t even have a name for.—Richard SikenAt Christmas, Sam and Dean reunite.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61
Collections: SPN J2 Xmas Exchange





	like a prayer for which no words exist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryvanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/gifts).



> Written for the SPN-J2-Xmas exchange. Thank you to my wonderful recipient [sometimesalways](https://sometimesalways.livejournal.com/) for the lovely prompts. I hope you have an excellent holiday season. ♥

They’re leaving an SQC—Stanford Queer Collective—meeting when Jess says, ‘Wow, that’s some car.’

There’s only one car, in Sam’s head, that can ever be described in those particular tones of reverence.

Sure enough, when he turns to follow Jess’s gaze, there’s the Impala glittering in the sun, the only thing brighter than it the tall guy with sungold hair leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed over his chest, amulet glinting bronzely in the early afternoon sun.

‘Heya, Sammy,’ Dean says. He glances over at Jess, smiles briefly, politely, and then looks right back at Sam. He’s smiling that particular smile that Sam has come to hate over the course of eighteen years. 

Well, maybe _hate_ isn’t quite the right word. It’s just that that specific smile means that Dean is either terribly pissed off or terribly anxious, that he’s pasting on a grin to hide the fact that he’d rather be just about anywhere else. It’s his get-out-of-my-way-or-I’ll-run-you-down smile. 

‘Dean,’ Sam says, like he’d been expecting Dean all along. Like it hasn’t been four months since they last set eyes on each other. 

‘You got a minute?’ Dean asks.

Sam’s world is tilting sharply on its axis, sending him spiralling into a place once so familiar and now so frightening. This is what he’d fled. This is what he’d never wanted: Dean in the world that he’s begun crafting so carefully for himself. It’s a world that can only exist if it’s Deanless.

‘Sam never mentioned he had a friend with the coolest car ever made,’ Jess says, smiling. She holds out her hand to Dean. ‘Hi. I’m Jessica.’

To anyone else, anyone who knows Jess and Sam, the sentence is perfectly normal.

To Dean, the words are probably clashing horribly with the evidence that his eyes are giving him. 

Jess looks more her gender than Sam looks his. She’s only eighteen, but she’s already transitioned in a way that Sam hasn’t. She was born Jesse Moore, branded male at birth but brought up in a liberal household that has wholeheartedly embraced her for who she is. Her house is full of laughter and good will, an ancestral home where, if there are any skeletons in anyone’s closets, the family probably invites those skeletons to dinner and makes them feel welcome.

Sam, though. Sam’s genderfluid, although he’s currently using male pronouns, and looks it. Sam was born Samantha Winchester and brought up by a military—almost militant—father. He was brought up by a big brother who would have pretty much sold the entire world for Sam, until Sam betrayed him by running away.

‘Pleased to meet you, Jessica,’ Dean says without missing a beat, shaking Jess’s hand. ‘Mind if I borrow Sam here for a while.’ It’s not a question.

‘’Course not.’ Jess turns to hug Sam quickly. ‘Is that okay?’ she whispers in Sam’s ear. ‘You wanna go with this guy, right? If not, just say the word and I won’t leave your side.’ 

Sam hugs her back, hard. ‘It’s all good,’ he whispers back. ‘Thanks, Jess.’

—

‘What is it?’ Sam says, turning to Dean as the car pulls out onto the road. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Any good place to get something to eat around here?’ Dean says, breezy. ‘I’m starving.’

Ignoring each other has pretty much always been one of their shared special skills.

‘Take the next left,’ Sam says shortly, turning his face to the window and letting the wind lift his hair.

—

A few minutes later, they’re settled into cheap red vinyl seats in a roadside diner. They’ve eaten in the likes of it their whole lives, shoveling food into their mouths in the time that it took Dad to fill up the tank and begin honking impatiently from outside.

‘How’s Dad?’ Sam asks, if only for something to say that will break the silence.

Dean shrugs, lifting his shoulder in a carelessly elegant gesture that’s typically Dean. ‘Same old. Since when are you a boy?’

Sam winces. ‘I, uh.’

‘Let me rephrase that. Since when have you been out?’

For several moments, Sam can only stare at his brother. Dean stares back, unfazed. 

‘You knew,’ Sam says finally.

Dean lets out a brief, mirthless laugh. ‘Y’know, at first I thought it was just some sorta hero-worship thing you had going on, wearing my clothes instead of getting your own. Or maybe that it was your save-the-world-by-buying-less-stuff mentality. But then I knew it wasn’t just those things.’

‘When?’

‘After Flagstaff.’

‘Oh.’

‘You know, I figured when you were finally ready that… that it’d be me you’d tell. First, I mean.’

‘Dean,’ Sam whispers, swallowing. ‘It… it’s not like that.’ He’s thought about Dean’s reaction so many times. What Dean would say when Sam finally told him. He’d imagined the worst. He’d imagined the best. He’d never imagined the pain he can see now in Dean’s face, his voice.

‘Except it kinda is, isn’t it.’ Dean takes a savage bite of his burger. ‘Your own family isn’t good enough for you, but a bunch of strangers in college are.’

‘Dean, don’t.’ Sam tries to blink away the sting of tears from his eyes. It doesn’t help much. ‘I told you it’s not like that. Dad, yeah, maybe. But not you. I wouldn’t… not you.’

‘But you did, didn’t you, Sammy? You ditched me for some fancy place with fancy people who could understand you when your stupid dumb brother couldn’t.’

‘Stop it. This is exactly why… just stop, Dean.’ Sam doesn’t bother trying to hide the tears trickling down his cheeks now. ‘You have no right. No right to come here and… and…’

‘Interfere with your life?’ Dean finishes for him. 

Sam scrubs his hands roughly over his face.

Dean holds out the tissues that came with his food.

Sam just stares at him, his face blotchy.

Dean sighs. He slides out of his seat across the table and into the space next to Sam.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dean says, soft. He presses a tissue under Sam’s eyes, wiping at his tears. ‘I didn’t… fuck, Sammy, this is the last thing I wanted.’

‘For me to turn out a freak?’ Sam says, bitter. ‘Am I that unrecognizable after four months?’ 

‘For me to make you cry.’ Dean tosses the tissue on his plate and pulls Sam into his arms.

Sam stays stiff, resisting the hug, but Dean just keeps holding him, his arms strong but loose around Sam’s body, as though he’s giving Sam the space to pull away.

‘It hasn’t been four months for me,’ Dean says into the top of Sam’s head. ‘I followed you here, Sam. I saw you the day after you left. I’ve been seeing you every week. And it… it hurts to see how happy you are without me. It fucking hurts, man. But it also… I’ve seen you, you know? I’ve seen you all your life. And I’ve never seen you so free. So… so yourself. I guess I… I just had to see you properly, you know? See you like this and tell you that I understand. Tell you that I know. That… that I won’t ever bother you again if you don’t wanna see me.’

It’s probably the most that Dean has said to him in the space of a few breaths, in the space of a monologue that seems to slip right past Sam’s defenses and into the pores of his skin. 

‘You came here to say goodbye,’ Sam says, reaching up to frame Dean’s face with his hands. 

Dean rests his forehead against Sam’s, his shaky breath fluttering against Sam’s face. ‘If that’s what you want.’

‘I haven’t been happy because I’m not with you. I’m happy because I can finally be who I am, Dean. And because…’

 _Because I don’t have to hide from you anymore_ , he thinks. But there’s no way he can bring up that part again. Things are fucked up enough as it is. 

‘Because what?’

Sam looks around. The diner’s nearly empty, but it feels too large, too public.

‘Where are you staying?’

‘The car?’ Dean offers, rueful. 

‘You wanna get a motel room?’

Dean nods. ‘Yeah. Sounds good.’ He drops a kiss on the crown of Sam’s head.

—

They’d kissed once, in the past.

Two years ago, to be precise. It had been the night of Sam’s junior prom. He hadn’t wanted to go, resisting Dean’s well-intentioned offer to buy him a prom dress. Sam had been the walking personification of gender dysphoria back then, his skin constantly feeling like an ill-fitting, suffocating suit and his terrible, helpless attraction to Dean making everything a thousand times worse.

Dean had found him in the back yard of their rental house, drunk on three beers and feeling as though the world was crashing down around him.

Sam had taken one look at Dean’s concerned face, thrown caution to the winds and flung himself into Dean’s arms, kissing him and kissing him until they were both gasping for breath.

‘Sam, Sam. Sammy, please,’ Dean had said, his eyes wide, afraid. As though he was frightened of Sam, of the twisted things inside him.

Sam had shoved him away and locked himself inside the bathroom for hours. Dean had tried knocking, at first, but then given in to Sam’s silence, and a cloak of unhappiness had descended over the house. When Sam finally emerged from the bathroom, Dean was sitting by the door, his arms wrapped around his knees, exhaustion etched into his face. 

Sam’s heart had gone out to him, yet again, but he’d vowed never to put that expression on Dean’s face again.

—

‘Happy Christmas, Sammy,’ Dean says when they’re at the motel.

Sam likes this room. It’s like a thousand motel rooms that they’ve stayed in before, but this time his chest doesn’t feel tight at the thought of sharing a room with Dean with all of his secrets weighing him down. Almost the worst of them has always been his overwhelming love for his beautiful, infuriating big brother.

He takes the bottle of white wine—it even has a dark green ribbon wrapped festively around it—from Dean’s hand. ‘I didn’t get you anything.’

‘There’s, uh. There’s something else.’

Dean is a lot of things, but he’s never this hesitant. 

Sam touches his arm. ‘What is it?’

Dean puts his hand into his pocket and brings out a small package. It’s wrapped in brown paper and more of the same green ribbon.

Sam opens it carefully, his fingers shaking.

It’s a bracelet with the trans pride colors, five strips of blue, pink, and white. There’s a tiny silver charm hanging from the clasp—a little peace sign.

Dean cups Sam’s hand from beneath, tilting it so the charm catches the light. ‘Thought your pacifist ass would like this too,’ he says, his voice thick.

Sam looks up at Dean, his vision blurred. ‘You… I, I don’t. Dean. Fuck.’

‘You know me, Sammy,’ Dean says, going for breezy and missing by miles. ‘I’m not that good with words. Thought I’d, uh. Just give it to you and…’

‘You’re good with words.’ Sam’s crying now, and not even bothering to pretend he isn’t. ‘You’re good at everything. You’re fucking perfect, Dean, fuck, you asshole, I wasn’t gonna cry again.’

‘Does that mean you like it?’ Dean asks, not even trying to hide his nervousness.

‘Put it on me?’ Sam holds out his arm, pushing up his sleeve.

He waits for Dean to see what’s on his skin.

‘When did you get this?’ Dean says in wonder, his fingertip tracing their initials on the inside of Sam’s wrist. _S.W._ and _D.W._ , carved into Sam’s skin in exactly the same way as they are in the Impala.

‘You mean when did I find the time to steal away and do it when you were stalking me every minute I was at college?’ Sam says, teasing, half-laughing and half-crying as he impatiently swipes at his tears. ‘I got it done before I left for Stanford.’

‘Sneaky kid,’ Dean whispers. He clasps the bracelet carefully around Sam’s wrist.

‘I… I wanna show you something,’ Sam says. He opens his bag and pulls out his diary. 

He’s had it since he was fourteen. It’s not a real diary, actually: just one of those thick notebooks that’s meant for students. He’s been writing in it about once a fortnight, sometimes more often, over the past four years. It has all his secrets. Dean had tried being the annoying big brother at first, playfully snatching it away when he’d seen Sam writing in it, but he’d quickly realized that whatever Sam was writing wasn’t a joke to him.

He pushes the book into Dean’s hands. ‘I… I don’t have a present for you, but…’

‘Are you sure?’ Dean turns the book over in his hands, an almost reverent gesture.

Sam nods. ‘I don’t… I never wanted any secrets between us, Dean. Not ever.’

‘Thank you,’ Dean says, wrapping his arm around Sam’s shoulders and pressing the words into Sam’s temple. ‘Thank you.’

—

Sam drinks the wine while Dean reads.

He doesn’t think he can actually stay in the room sober while Dean looks into the most hidden crevices of his mind, so the wine is a good way to ensure that he doesn’t flee.

Dean looks up once or twice, as though he’s about to say something, but then merely offers Sam a tiny smile and goes back to the diary.

After two glasses, Sam is bold enough to climb into bed next to Dean—there are two beds, but he doesn’t care—and curl up next to him. Dean immediately shifts to make space for him, putting his arm around Sam and letting him snuggle against his side. 

Sam pushes his nose against the soft, warm skin of Dean’s neck, inhaling deeply. Dean’s fragrance is the same as it’s always been: like safety, like home, like love, like the protection offered by a parent. He’s asleep in no time at all.

—

It’s early morning when Sam wakes. Dean hasn’t moved.

‘Sleep well?’ Dean brushes Sam’s bangs out of his eyes, smiling down at him. His eyes are a little red.

‘Like a baby. You get any sleep at all?’ Sam pushes closer to Dean, looping his arms around Dean’s waist.

‘Sammy,’ Dean says. ‘What’m I gonna do with you?’

‘That bad, huh?’ Sam smiles against Dean’s shoulder.

‘Brat,’ Dean whispers. He puts his fingertips under Sam’s chin, tilting his head up. ‘All this time?’ he asks. ‘Since you were fourteen?’

‘Since long before,’ Sam confesses. ‘You were… it was always you, Dean. You must know that.’

‘I… I kinda figured that you were crushing on me when you were a kid, but…’

‘Do you think you could ever be okay with this?’ Sam reaches up to touch Dean’s jaw. ‘With us?’

‘I just… fuck, Sammy. I just never wanted to fuck you up like that, you know? I mean, our lives are plenty fucked up as it is.’

‘I know.’ Sam sits up, wrapping his arms around his knees. ‘I knew the night we… the night I kissed you that you… you didn’t want me the way I want you, and… and…’

‘Hey, hey, back up a bit.’ Dean shifts to sit cross-legged in front of Sam. ‘I never said that.’

‘You looked afraid, Dean, You looked like I had scared the shit out of you.’

‘If I was scared, Sammy, then I was scared for you. Not of you.’

‘I—what?’

Dean cups Sam’s face carefully in his big warm hands, pressing a kiss against Sam’s forehead. ‘You were already going through so much. I knew you weren’t ready to talk to me. I just… I wanted to be there for you, Sammy. I wanted to make everything bad in your life go away. I just didn’t know how.’

He kisses the tip of Sam’s nose. ‘I wanna try now. If you’ll let me.’

After that, it’s the easiest thing in the world for Sam to tilt his head and meet Dean’s lips with his own. The kiss is gentle, not like the frantic, open-mouthed kisses from the previous time, when Sam had been sure he’d get punched in the face for trying something like that.

‘This okay?’ Dean asks him, his hands still framing Sam’s face, so close that they’re touching everywhere they can.

Sam nods. ‘Is it okay with you?’

‘Hell, yeah.’

‘You’re not… you’re not just doing this for me?’

Dean takes a deep breath, glancing down at his jeans.

Sam follows his gaze. ‘Oh,’ he says. He has a difficult time getting even the tiny word out. The thought that Dean’s so turned on just from a kiss makes his insides squish together in a happy ball.

‘Yeah, oh,’ Dean says with a sheepish grin. ‘Now let’s get outta here and get some food in you. ’Cause I really, really need a distraction.’

—

They stay out until lunchtime, walking through the pretty streets surrounding the university. Everything’s done up for Christmas, swathes of tinsel and bunches of holly and mistletoe everywhere, a sight that would’ve made Sam absolutely miserable if Dean hadn’t been with him. They wander in and out of bookstores where Dean buys Sam more books than he can carry, eating roasted chestnuts and thick, rich slices of plum cake, washing them down with hot, steaming cocoa from roadside stalls, and Dean doesn’t even add whiskey to his.

‘Happy?’ Dean murmurs against Sam’s ear as they pause to watch a group of carolers sing.

‘Yes,’ Sam says, turning to steal a tiny kiss. ‘But.’

‘What?’ Dean asks, worry entering his eyes.

‘But I’ll be happier once we take care of the problem you have going on in your pants,’ Sam says lightly, sounding bolder than he feels. 

‘Brat,’ Dean says, exhaling with noisy relief. He pulls Sam into his arms and holds him tight. ‘Don’t scare me like that.’

Over his shoulder, Sam sees Jess walking past with some of their friends from class, all of them carrying gift bags. They wave to each other.

 _Happy for you_ , Jess mouths at him, a hand pressed to her heart.

—

The moment they enter their motel room, Dean spins Sam around, presses him against the door, and kisses him breathless.

‘Been wanting to do that for hours,’ he says, running his fingertips down Sam’s face.

‘Mm,’ Sam answers, pulling at Dean’s belt. ‘And I’ve been wanting to do this for hours.’

‘Wait, wait.’ Dean gently takes Sam’s wrists. ‘You first. Please?’

‘Dean, I don’t… my body usually feels like it’s not my own, you know?’

‘Is it…’ Dean begins, but trails off.

‘What?’ Sam asks, gentle. He puts his hands on Dean’s forearms. ‘You can ask me anything.’

‘Is it just me?’ Dean bites his lip. ‘Would you, uh… would you be more comfortable with someone who…who understands you better?’

‘No one understands me better than you,’ Sam says, giving Dean a firm kiss on his lips. ‘I’ve never… not with anyone, Dean. I… I might have, before you showed up and… and I don’t know, I just want you, all of you, so bad.’

‘You have me,’ Dean says. He cups Sam’s face and kisses him again. ‘Not even Jess?’ he asks.

Sam smiles. ‘She’s a lesbian and I’m very, very Deansexual, so no.’

‘Deansexual.’ Dean kisses Sam’s hair, his cheeks. ‘I like that.’

Sam smiles. ‘Me too.’

Dean’s fingertips trace Sam’s belt buckle. ‘Can I?’

Mouth dry, Sam nods. ‘Yes. Yes, please.’

Dean goes to his knees, his face tilted up sweetly toward Sam as he unzips Sam’s jeans. ‘Yeah?’ he asks again, his hands on Sam’s waist.

‘Yes. The most enthusiastic yes you’ve ever heard.’

‘Thank fuck.’ Dean presses his face against Sam’s boxer-briefs, and Sam widens his knees to give him more room. The soft black cloth already has a damp spot on it. Dean kisses it gently, breathing Sam in deep, whimpering at the taste of Sam as he licks repeatedly over the spot, pressing closer every time.

‘Dean.’ Sam’s fingers are twisted painfully tight in Dean’s hair. ‘Dean, please.’

‘I got you,’ Dean says. He tugs Sam’s jeans and underwear down to his thighs, buries his face between Sam’s legs, and proceeds to worship Sam with his lips and tongue.

It doesn’t take long for Sam to come, hitting his head with a thunk against the door and his body quivering uncontrollably, his hips arched against Dean’s mouth.

He slides down bonelessly, his back against the door, Dean holding him all the way.

‘Your turn,’ he says, when he’s finished kissing the taste of himself out of Dean’s mouth.

‘In a minute, kiddo,’ Dean says, curling up around Sam. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ 

It sounds like a promise.

For the first time in his life, Sam lets himself believe that he and Dean have all the time in the world.


End file.
